


Haunted

by waitfortheclick



Category: The Losers (Comic)
Genre: Dogs, Drugs, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Fix-It, Getting Back Together, Ghost Sex, Ghosts, M/M, Masturbation, Reconciliation, Temporary Character Death, Voyeurism, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22856350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitfortheclick/pseuds/waitfortheclick
Summary: "OK yes, all right, I get it. This is like that movie with that chick from Taxi Driver and the -- the aliens, right. The one where they're trying to make contact or whatever. You're, you know, whatever, and you think this is the best look to like not make me freak out, and boy do I have news for you -- because this," he gestures widely at the thing. "This is not the way to get me to calm the fuck down."
Relationships: Carlos "Cougar" Alvarez/Jake Jensen
Comments: 11
Kudos: 43
Collections: Losers Bingo 2019/20





	Haunted

**Author's Note:**

> Written for two bingo squares: temporary character death and exhibitionism
> 
> Ghosts suspend the rules of logic just as they break the rules of nature. They belong to the past, to a history that should have been closed with their death, and yet they reappear to trouble the present and change the future. A ghost is always radically out of time, as well as out of place.  
> \- Catherine Belsey, “Hamlet and the Tradition of Fireside Ghost Stories,” Shakespeare Quarterly, Vol. 61, No. 1, 2010
> 
> You left me boundaries of pain  
> Capacious as the sea,  
> Between eternity and time,  
> Your consciousness and me.  
> \- Emily Dickinson, from “[You left me, sweet, two legacies,—]”

He’s awake, and he’s not sure why. It's been years since the groans of this old, achy house have bothered him. The dark outside the window is peaceful, quiet but for the chirp of crickets and lazy bump of moths. The dogs snore softly where they're sprawled on the bed on either side of him. 

There: it’s less an actual sound and more an absence of silence.

Then a sound, like fabric rustling softly, like fingertips rasping along the walls, like gentle footsteps padding the floors. Still, the dogs don't wake. He nudges the one closest with his foot.

"Hey. What the fuck?"

She blinks at him and slowly wags her tail; it thumps against the mattress. 

They don't get many intruders. Once, a flying squirrel got in through a hole in the pantry. He had to keep the dogs shut up in his bedroom so they wouldn't get any ideas while he chased the thing around with a shoe box. 

Another time, some drunk kid had wandered in from a house party at a recently built subdivision less than a mile down the road. The neighborhood that manages to look like a ghost town even though all the houses have been sold and occupied for at least a year. James found him eating cereal by the fist full at his kitchen table, called him a car from a ride service and let him take the box home.

That’s it. No escaped criminally insane with chainsaws. No roving gangs of teenage thrill killers. Not even a demon in a box in the attic, or any ugly, cursed dolls. This is definitely the place for it; prime horror movie locale. It's a little disappointing. 

So, the dogs are usually quiet, but they’d barked at the squirrel, and the kid. They aren’t barking now -- they aren’t even out of bed.

“Hey,” he whispers again. “Stevie, what the fuck? You hear that, right?” She just sighs a deep dog sigh and snuggles deeper into the comforter. On his other side, Nyx doesn’t wake.

Again, a sound that can’t be classified. His imagination offers up maddening possibilities: strangers wandering through his home, running fingers over his electronics, photographs, reading his mail and rifling through his books.

“OK.” He takes a fortifying breath. “OK, I’m going. I’m coming, motherfucker.” 

He hears strange, soft noises all the way down the stairs. They stop as soon as his feet touch the floor. The hand that holds his gun is steady, strong. He flips on the lights and sees… nothing.

He lets out a long breath. “Fucking great. I’m losing my mind.”

* * *

“Hey! Leave it!” James shouts across the yard at the dogs, then jogs to meet them. “Don’t eat that, what the fuck.” 

A ring of mushrooms has sprung up overnight, so white they glow against green grass crystalline with dew. Stevie and Nyx are fascinated, bumping busy black noses against spongy fungus.

“Hey, come on,” he pushes them back. “You know better.” They wag their tails amiably and begin chasing each other around the yard. He kicks a little at one of the mushrooms, and it breaks at the stalk. He thinks for a moment that he sees something: a shimmering aura of bright green, a strange phosphorescence. He does a double take, and the effect has dissipated.

“OK,” he calls after the dogs, eyeing the ring suspiciously. “OK, leash time.”

There's a storm coming in from the southeast, and the sky looks bruised. It dims the morning sun, lends a brooding air to the day. A circle of vultures stalks in the sky to the west.

Some enterprising individuals like to hike through the fields -- former farmland reclaimed -- but never very many. Most prefer to use the trails that run through the forest that hems in the acreage. Sometimes school children will move in sunscreened packs through the shrubs, crouching in unison to observe this plant, that insect. Each day and night across these fields thousands of little dramas unfold at miniature scale.

People are typically friendly and mindful of his privacy. At most he waves back, he makes shallow conversation. Yes, it's a beautiful day. No, I don't mind the intrusion. Yes, they're friendly dogs. Shouted across a respectable, if awkward, distance.

James walks those trails, dragging his shadow around; sometimes it drags him around. Sometimes people stop and pet the dogs; sometimes they only smile and nod and keep moving. 

He wouldn't call himself lonely, and it's not like he really wants company. Not when he can't give enough of himself to feel like he's actually with someone, to feel like it’s a fair trade.

It's work enough living with himself: his past encroaching on all sides, constantly begging his attention, always so difficult. The dogs are easy, easy to take care of, easy to make happy, easy to be around.

He’s about to get the dogs back inside when a shadow passes overhead, and something lands with a _thump_ before him. He shields his eyes to watch a red-tailed hawk streak across the sky toward the treeline, screeching, he thinks, angrily. Pulling at the leashes brings his attention back down to the ground, where lies a furry, broken body. 

“Whoa, OK, inside.” He manages to push the dogs past the threshold and shuts the door. He heads over to the shed to grab a pair of work gloves and a trash bag. He can tell something is wrong as soon as he gets back to the corpse. Well, “wrong” is a subjective term. The thing -- once he gets closer he realizes it’s a small rabbit -- looks much better than it did a few minutes ago. The little body suddenly looks whole, no longer battered. 

“What the fuck?” He whispers to himself. He watches it twitch a few times before it flips onto all fours. It sits for a minute, as if getting its bearings, breathing rapidly, then rubs its paws over its face a few times, and tentatively hops away.

He barely even hears the barking behind the door. They sound very, very far away, like he’s on another planet. He stares after the rabbit, a cacophony of dogs at his back.

* * *

James is mulling over something, something someone said once, a long time ago. A lifetime ago. 

He’s making himself an omelette when he reaches for the pepper and his hand closes around nothing, grasping at air. The salt isn’t where it’s supposed to be, either. They’ve been moved about a foot to the left, right at the edge of the counter.

He turns around and asks, “What the hell?” The dogs just wag their tails at him and whine softly for cheese. “Yeah, well, big help. Thanks.” Finally he remembers the night before: a sound that wasn’t a sound, a presence that left no trace. “You girls remember that, right?” He scrapes the eggs onto a plate and turns off the burner.

He opens his laptop to check the house's camera feed. The outdoor cameras show absolutely nothing more than the usual raccoons and a lone opossum. The indoor feeds are more interesting: a shake, a shiver to the air in places -- like looking through high heat -- the salt and pepper shakers sliding across the counter. Most alarming, a piece of paper floating through the air, followed by a pen. The pen hovers in front of the paper and begins to write --

He whips around. There's a piece of printer paper on the counter and he definitely did not put that there -- he’s not sure how he walked right past it. The sight of it makes his palms sweat, makes him feel like coughing up his heart. "JAKE", written big, unsteady like when you use your nondominant hand or hold the pen too high up or write with your toes. He jerks out of his seat and stares at it, then he crumples it up and throws it away.

Five minutes spent staring into his coffee until he gets it out of the trash, smooths it out, and fixes it to the fridge with a magnet like it’s his kid’s first A.

“This is probably bad.” He tells the dogs. “But we’re going to go on another walk, and then I’m going to do some work. Because we might be haunted, or I might be crazy, but either way we’re going to need money, OK?” They wag their tails and push their noses into his hands in response. “OK.”

* * *

“Jesus.” He puts down the mug before he can drop it, heart pounding. “Jesus tap dancing Christ.”

There’s something standing in the kitchen, flickering softly like a candle flame, something that looks like someone he knew, once upon a time. It’s obviously not him, because that doesn’t make any sense. It gives him a sheepish smile.

It says: “Lo siento.” James opens his mouth, shuts it. Then it says: “Don’t freak out.”

His mind races, grasping frantically for reason and coming up empty. He nods a little frantically, a nonsensical bobbing of his head.

"OK yes, all right, I get it. This is like that movie with that chick from Taxi Driver and the -- the aliens, right. The one where they're trying to make contact or whatever. You're, you know, whatever, and you think this is the best look to like not make me freak out, and boy do I have news for you -- because this," he gestures widely at the thing. "This is not the way to get me to calm the fuck down."

"Que?!"

“Stop it. Stop doing that.” He rubs his hands over his face. What does he mean to say? He isn’t sure. Stop talking, stop standing there looking like that. He pulls a chair from the table and sits heavily.

“Jake…” Wow, don’t do that, don’t say that. Definitely stop that. “I’m sorry.” Stop apologizing. 

“Soy yo.”

“How did you… ?”

“Que?”

James catches a glimpse of himself reflected in the kitchen window. He looks pale, shadows under his eyes darker than ever. There’s a sheen of sickly looking sweat across his forehead, and he wipes it off with the back of his hand. There are so many questions running through his head: How did you find me? Where did you come from? Why are you here? Why now?

"Why are you… are you here because of the candles?" It’s the first question that makes it out of his mouth.

"Candles?"

"Yes, Jesus, candles. There's a church I sometimes… didn't you know? Ain't it like… I don't know! Bribing God or something?"

"No se." Cougar -- because that's what it looks like -- shrugs, the motion strange, almost shimmering. He's smirking a little. "You been lighting candles for me?"

"No. I don't know." It's a Greek Orthodox church, anyway. He used to go, because it was even further out of town, rarely busy, no one tried to talk to him. He used to go, just in case. "Wait what do you mean you don't know? You're here, right, unless I'm imagining it. So there's gotta be, you know... You should know."

Cougar winces. "It's not… I didn't get updates."

“You really didn’t know?”

He shrugs again, apologetic.

"Wow, you know, a lot of people would be very disappointed by that. What a waste of money."

"Doesn't it go to the church?"

"I don't know!” He snaps, he can’t help it. “Jesus, man, what the fuck! What are we doing? Ok, if you're fake, what is this? Do I got a brain tumor? Do I need to see about giving away the dogs?” Boy, he does not want to have to do that. “If you're… if you're --" He clenches his fist hard on the table. "Do you know how long it's been? Why now?"

"I don't… There's no time…" he frowns, looking for the words. "There. It's just… nothing. And then I was here. Sometimes."

James lets out a slow breath. "It's been… it's been a long time, man." He lays his hand flat against the table and toys with the fringe of the lone place mat. "Ten years," he says softly. He feels vaguely ill.

"Oh."

"Yeah." All of a sudden he's angry again; his fingers curl tight back into a fist. “Why the fuck are you here, man? You got something to tell me? Am I dying?”

“Dying? No? I don’t think so.”

“So… so what? You just dropping in to say ‘Hi’?”

“I thought…” Cougar says softly. “I didn’t mean to. I’m not lying -- I was just here, when I wasn’t there. This is where I am now.”

“Where is ‘there’, anyway?”

“No se… Heaven? No angels, just… it was peaceful.” He shakes his head. “Didn’t feel like Hell.”

James laughs bitterly. “Peaceful, huh? Yeah, guess you got what you wanted.”

“I’m sorry, Jake. If I’d seen any other way, I swear I would have…”

“Yeah, well, let’s not, OK?” He rubs a hand over his face. "How'd you do that, anyway?" He gestures at the piece of paper stuck to the fridge.

Cougar smirks. "You didn't frame it?"

He scowls. "No, thank you. Answer the --" but he cuts off sharply when he hears rustling and turns to see the paper lifting and falling against the fridge, disturbed by a phantom breeze. He looks back at Cougar, who is frowning in concentration. "Some kinda telekinesis, huh?" Cougar tips his head in the affirmative.

“You know, that’s not my name anymore. That’s why it really freaked me the fuck out.” That’s why he threw it away in the first place.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s James, now.”

“Not much of a change.”

“Yeah, well, keep it simple, you know.” He shrugs. “So, this has been awesome. I mean, fucked up. But I’m tired and I’m going to bed. Don’t -- I don’t know. Don’t follow me.”

* * *

"OK, so you got me. Very funny. You can reveal your true form or whatever."

"Que?"

"I have to hand it to you -- you're good. You're very good. But I don't buy it."

“Jake, what the hell?”

“I’ve been thinking, and there’s no way, no fuckin’ way, this is really happening. But hey, OK, let’s say I believe in ghosts; I still don’t think you’re him.” He takes a deep breath, asks what’s still nagging at him. "Seriously, am I dying? Is that why you're here? Why you --" Why you keep coming back, why you look like him.

The thing that looks like Cougar frowns. "I don’t think you’re dying."

"Then why come here at all, man? Looking like… You're making me crazy -- ever think of that? How do you know I won't just lose it and kill myself?"

"The dogs. And because he wants you to live."

Jake pushes back from the table abruptly, chair legs clattering loud against the wood floor. He stands, rubs a hand over his mouth; the dogs, startled, stand with him.

"I'm taking the dogs out." He starts toward the door, then stops. “This -- this really sucks, you know that?” He doesn’t slam the door, but it’s a near thing.

Walking with the dogs through the breeze, listening to the rustling leaves under the warm blue sky -- it doesn’t help like it usually does when he gets like this, when he feels frustrated hopeless and the loneliness is too much to bear. He stares at the dogs trotting happily along the trail, stopping to sniff here and there, squatting to pee, and mostly he just feels guilty. Stevie looks back at him a few times as if in reproach, and he sticks his tongue out at her.

“You can’t make me feel bad,” he tells her. “I already do.”

When he gets back the ghost is right where he left it, and it looks up when he walks over.

"This is stupid, and you're still not him, but I'm sorry I stormed out."

* * *

Jake wakes up. As self preservation, it's gotten a little old -- he'd rather just sleep through the night. When the dreams get bad he thinks, OK, this is a bad dream, I am aware of this, and he can stay asleep. Then it gets worse, and worse, until he can no longer horse whisper the panicked beast of his subconscious -- so, he wakes up. 

He's read that people who claim to have had extraterrestrial encounters often exhibit symptoms of PTSD. Sometimes he likes to pretend he's a former abductee, and all the awful, unthinkable stuff in his head is just made up. Like it's all just memories implanted by the aliens to cover up what actually happened, what they really did to him. The way they flayed him alive, stuck sharp metal implements into his still-conscious brain. Cut him open, took him apart, put him back together again wrong a few times before they figured it out. 

Then they put him back on Earth with his skin feeling like it doesn’t fit right and a story so awful he’d never be tempted to look at it too hard, to try and peel away the surface. 

He retrieves an emergency joint taped under the sink and opens the medicine cabinet so he doesn’t have to look at his own face in the mirror. He sits in the bathtub.

He lights up, inhales deeply, closes his eyes. He lets out a stream of smoke. Then he turns to the ghost, who’s floating near the counter, and says, “Hey Jacob Marley, what’s up?”

Cougar shrugs, smiles. “No mucho.” Then: "Been haunting my best friend."

Jake laughs. "That's a great goddamned coincidence because I've been hallucinating the ghost of my best friend." He takes another drag. "Hey, if you can't touch anything, you know," he waves vaguely around himself, trying to incorporate everything corporeal, including the stairs. "How'd you even get up here?"

Cougar thinks for a moment. "It's like… if I think, I want to go there. I can go there." He shrugs.

"Oh, well, thanks, thank you, very scientific." Cougar laughs, and he wasn't expecting it to feel like that -- he hadn't realized how much he'd missed it. It clicks something into place around the region of his heart. He has to cover his face with his hands for a minute.

"Are you OK?"

"Yeah, I'm awesome," he croaks from the warm, dark cavern of his palms before he pries them away.

"Are you going to turn on the water?"

Jake laughs and coughs, rolls his shoulders into it. "No -- look, this is really good shit." He rubs his eyes. "That's the last thing I need: Weird Loner Alien Abductee Found Drowned in Bath."

"Que? Alien what?"

Jake stares at him for a moment. "Right, sorry, wrong narrative."

They sit in silence. Well, Jake sits, Cougar floats.

“Do you remember… when we watched that really long Russian movie? Solaris?”

Cougar nods.

“What if you’re just like… a projection of a memory? Or whatever? What if I’m just indulging in a fiction? You know” 

Cougar frowns for a moment, thinking. “We’re still on Earth, right?”

“Oh. Right.” That’s pretty fair reasoning, but he could still be someone playing pretend. Or some _thing._ “Tell me something only you would know.” 

Cougar thinks for a moment. "You told me you loved me on your twenty third birthday, and then you threw up on my shoes."

Jake watches a ladybug crawl across the rim of the tub. Finally: "Nice try. Tell me something I don't know."

Cougar watches him for a few seconds before he says: “I’m glad to see you.”

Jensen groans. “Oh man, what the fuck.”

* * *

“This is so fucking weird.” He gestures at Stevie and Nyx, dosing on the floor by Cougar’s chair. As close as they can get without touching him. “They don’t know you! They were born more than five years after… after you --”

“Died?”

He lets out a noisy breath. “Yeah.” He has to ask: “Why the fuck did you take so long to get back to me, man?”

"Jake -- I didn't know. I just. Maybe I was gone as long as I needed to be. No se."

He can't stop the surprised, mirthless burst of laughter. "And what did I need? Ten years without you? What the fuck is that?"

"Jake --"

"No, OK, I'm sorry, I know: it ain't like you meant it. Right? But fuck that and fuck you cause you knew, didn't you? I get there wasn't nothing you could do when it happened but you said --" and he knows this will sound nuts but he's got to say it. "You said you were done. Like, one more, and that was it. You knew you weren't going to --" He heaves in a breath and can't go on.

Silence, then: "I never meant to leave you. Never."

Jake clenches his fist and bangs it against the table. He can feel the wet heat behind his eyes, the pressure building. He really, really does not want to cry right now. He holds his breath against the deluge and hits the table a few more times.

“Jake,” Cougar looks about as helpless as he feels. “It was the only way. I had to be OK with that. I was OK with dying, I was OK with buying you enough time… I was never OK with leaving you. I didn’t… there was no other way.”

Jake lets out an angry sob. “Yeah,” He puts his head down on the table, rolls it to the side. It feels good against his cheek, cool. “Yeah I know.” Because he really does, he always knew, even if he hated it. “OK.” He sniffs a few times, and neither of them speak for a little while.

When Jake thinks he can face him again, he sits up. "God, you're probably getting ectoplasm everywhere."

Cougar laughs. The sound trips a wire in the boarded-up fortress of his heart. The cartoon version of himself wheezes and coughs up a little puff of smoke.

Because he's just imagining all this anyway: "Damn it -- I miss you. I miss waking up next to you. I miss making you laugh. I… I..." Cougar is silent, and Jake keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the table top. "OK. Now I'm gonna go to bed, and please just -- don't follow me."

* * *

After everything, he started travelling. Well, he doesn’t remember a lot right after the explosion -- he must have gotten another passport somehow, he must have gotten to the airport somehow, too. It should have been nigh impossible to get anywhere after the whole Max thing, but he managed it. Pooch helped him a lot, he knows.

Once, standing dazed under a high hot sun, staring at a map, a woman came up to him. She wasn't the first to confuse him for someone else, nor would she be the last -- but he remembers her the most clearly. She had run up behind him, sandals slapping excitedly against the concrete. He remembers the look on her face that split second after he'd turned, how quickly that elation had turned to confusion, then despair. A face that showed so much before closing up tight. What he saw made him want to talk to her, to say something true, and honest, but then she apologized, and all he could do was smile and say, "No worries."

It felt so good, being mistaken for someone else. Another man, without his past nipping at his heels and threatening to pop out at inopportune moments. He chased that feeling around the world, never staying in any one place long enough to become familiar. 

He looked for tinted glass of restaurants that concealed the people inside, showing him only his own face; streets that didn't know him or the sound of his footsteps. 

He started taking photographs of these places unknown to him, these strangers. He got pretty good at it.

He did that until the spell wore off, then he came back to America, something he wasn’t sure he’d ever do. He bought an old farmhouse in the midwest, willed to someone who wanted to sell it fast and keep their life on the coast. He fixed it up -- it really didn’t need much -- and then a few years ago he went to the shelter and got two dogs, sisters he couldn’t stand to separate. They really help fill up a lot of the space, and occupy some of his time. The rest is filled with freelancing he does from the comfort of his own computer. 

He’d tried dating, but hadn’t had much luck. It’s not like this place really had much of an older, gay scene. He’d had a few one night stands, but that was more difficult after he brought home the dogs. Whether he spent the night or his dates did, he worried about Stevie and Nyx. Maybe they were just an excuse, because he can’t deny the relief he’d felt when he had an excuse not to try anymore. 

He visited Pooch and his family a few times, but it always felt so strained. He thinks they reminded each other of things they’d rather forget. So, basically, it’s just been the three of them for a long time, now.

* * *

It’s weird, living with a ghost. He can't ever tell if he’s alone, truly alone, at any given moment. It kind of freaks him out but sometimes it makes him desperately hard; not knowing whether he’s being watched, hoping he might be. Hoping Cougar’s even watching him do the bare quotidian like make lunch and go through the mail and build code. It makes him feel special, like someone to pay attention to. It brings up all kinds of memories of back when Cougar was alive, the way he used to watch him all the time and pretend like he wasn’t.

It’s just… seeing Cougar again, real or imaginary or something else altogether, it’s brought it rushing back. He _wants_ now, it feels like it’s all the time that he wants.

He braces one forearm against the wall and drags a soapy hand down his chest, down and down until he wraps it around his dick. “Uh!” It already feels way better than it usually does.

Usually, jerking off is sort of rote: uninspired, half awake, fulfilling a need. It’s different now, with Cougar around -- even if he's incorporeal, even without his solidity, his physical presence, his scent. Just having him here at all makes heat pool low in the cradle of his hips, lighting him up from the inside out, all the way out to his toes and fingertips. 

His hips jerk forward, his dick sliding into the slickness of his hand, hot from the water. He groans and shifts so he can lean against the wall, freeing up his other hand. It drifts below to cradle his balls, gently rubbing and tugging at warm, soft flesh.

His breath comes out in little huffs as he strokes himself, hips still moving into his grip slowly now, trying to drag out the sensation. It feels so good, even better when imagining a dark pair of eyes on him. 

He pants, “Oh Christ, yes.” The hot water slides down his back and over his shoulders, running like silk over his skin. His hand moves faster, and he has to bring his arm back up to balance. Throughout everything: wondering if he’s alone, and wanting, wishing, hoping he isn’t. 

He gasps and jerks hard into his hand, his toes curling and pressing into the ceramic. His come hits the tile and drips onto the adhesive ducks stuck to the floor of the tub. He presses his forehead into his arm and catches his breath.

* * *

"You don't know what you look like?"

Cougar shakes his head. 

"You… you look." Like no time has passed. No -- better, less haunted. Which is really funny, actually, except not, because it makes him think about the really bad times, so he's not -- "You look great." He bites his tongue hard.

"Yeah?"

Jake hears flirtation in his voice, and it makes him smile. "Yeah," he says softly. Cougar looks good, still sparks a fire within him, even if he can’t touch. 

"Tu tambien."

It makes him laugh, but when he looks Cougar's face is sincere. He coughs, feeling exposed. "Yeah, well." He shrugs. "Hey, uh… were you --" He shakes his head. Cougar looks at him curiously. He laughs a little, nervous. "You haven't been, like, spying on me, right?"

Cougar shakes his head. "If I'm here, you know it."

"Oh," he's a little disappointed. "OK, I mean, duh, that's good. Obviously." Of course, he has to push it: "I mean, I wouldn't want you to catch me jerking off or something." 

"You wouldn't?" Damn the gleam in his eye.

He laughs again, that nervous outburst. “No! No. What? I mean… why would I? Why would… why would you, you know, want to?”

Cougar raises his eyebrows and smirks.

"I mean. You're a ghost, it's not like you could even get much out of it…"

Cougar tilts his head and considers this. 

"I mean… I mean, right?"

“Not necessarily.” He shrugs.

“What do you mean?” 

"I like being here, with you. I like… looking at you."

Oh. "Oh… well." That's deeply flattering in a way that's a little embarrassing. It’s something he always liked to think, but never thought would ever be so clearly confirmed. He clears his throat. “Well, would you… would you wanna, y’know, be here. More. Be around more often?”

“It’s good being here; I feel like I have to see you.”

“Oh, OK. Cool.” He nods to himself. “That’s cool.” Jesus. “So if you wanted to um…” he clears his throat. “If you wanted to, you know, watch… You know?”

“I know.”

“Right, OK, how would we… do that.”

Cougar shrugs. “It’s probably not that difficult.”

“Ha ha. Right, yeah.”

Cougar smiles. “Whenever you want. Just ask me.”

That’s a lot of pressure on him, but he is the one who brought it up. He clears his throat again. “Maybe I’ll uh… take you up on that. Some time.” He drums awkwardly on the counter top. “Maybe.”

* * *

“So you’re just like… around here most of the time, huh?” Every time Jake sees him, he looks more and more real. He looks downright solid, today; no weird shimmering or translucence. Cougar nods. “And you still can’t touch anything, right?”

Cougar’s forehead scrunches. He reaches for the table, but his fingers slide right through it. He flinches, shudders. The sight of his hands makes Jake’s thoughts scatter and fly like ashes flicked from the end of a lit cigarette. He ignores it. 

“I guess not.” Jake feels bad for the guy. “You gotta be bored, right?”

Cougar shrugs. “Doing nothing for a while longer… it’s not so bad.”

“Yeah but like, you’re, you know, here now. Right? Like, you’re not… there.” Wherever. “I’m just saying, I could help you out. I could leave books out for you, if they’re too heavy for your telekinesis thingy… you could just flip the pages. I bet you could do that. Or I could put a movie on for you… What?” Cougar is giving him a strange look, a look he hasn’t seen in a very long time. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Cougar’s lips fold in, just the way they always did when he was trying not to smile. Only ever when he was trying not to smile at Jake, because that was the only time he ever had trouble keeping a straight face. Keeping anything straight. Cougar makes that face at him and laughs a little and says, “Lo siento.”

“Yeah, well.” Jake manages a smile. “Knock it off.”

* * *

“So, uh, I’ve been thinking…” God, this is so awkward; he hasn’t had to proposition anyone in a long time.

“Yeah?” Cougar smiles at him sweetly.

“Oh, come on,” he whines. “Do I really gotta ask?”

Cougar purses his lips, considering. “Yes.”

“OK, then never mind!” He turns back to his laptop. A few minutes pass before he gives in. “I was just thinking… maybe we could, I don’t know, fool around. Maybe. If you want.”

“Sure…” He stops, seems suddenly unsure. “Will they…?” He gestures at the dogs.

“Oh! Oh, no, they’re fine.” He sets his computer aside, starts up the stairs, and turns when they start to follow. “OK, girls, stay. _Stay.”_ They stay. He shrugs at Cougar, and ignores the freaky way he floats up after him. “We’ll just shut the door.”

"How do you wanna…" Jake trails off uncertainly.

"Take your clothes off."

"You take yours off." Because he's nervous as hell and can't keep from talking back.

"Can't." Cougar shrugs. 

"What?" Like he's one of those cloth dolls with the clothing sewn on. "You tried?"

Cougar shrugs again, "I was curious."

"You wanted to join the fun."

Cougar rolls his eyes, a grin springing across his face. God, Jake's missed this; it's a little easier now, to pull the shirt over his head -- and isn't that something, the way Cougar still watches like he wants to gobble him up, suck, swallow. 

Since he's feeling brave: "I actually always wanted to try this. You maybe watching from a rooftop with binoculars or something."

"I know."

He stops unbuttoning his pants to give him an incredulous look. "You knew? Hell, how come we never tried it?"

"I always wanted to touch you."

"Oh, Jesus, that's --"

"I know."

Jake wants so badly to touch but he remembers that feeling -- like nails scraping against a chalkboard in his brain -- and makes a frustrated sound. He shoves his pants and underwear down before he remembers to feel self conscious about it.

“Uh.” He crosses his arms, the awkwardness catching up to him. Cougar laughs and it makes warmth bloom throughout his chest, makes it easier again. He smiles back at him. “OK.”

He sits on the bed. “How should I… uh.”

“It’s OK, lie down.”

“Just like --”

“Whatever works.”

“OK…” He settles with his head on the pillow, legs spread slightly. He’s not sure how it’s possible, the situation so strange, but he’s hard already; he wraps a hand around himself and starts to stroke.

"This is so weird."

"Shh. Pretend you're alone."

"OK… OK maybe…" He closes his eyes, and it is a little better, more like when he was actually alone but unsure whether or not he was being watched. Unsure if Cougar could see him touching himself, rubbing his own cock -- "Uh!" 

The noise jumps out before he can stop it, in time with his heart picking up speed, his cock twitching in his hand. In time too with the gasp Cougar lets out -- like Jake has surprised him, which is such a turn on he has to gasp as well -- it’s all a really sexy feedback loop. 

It's weird again, now it's definitely harder to pretend he might be alone, but it's also hugely encouraging. Cougar is turned on by this, by watching him, and he squirms a little on the bed. He feels pinned under his gaze, burning up, an ant under a magnifying glass or stuck to a board, whatever; it should be a turn off thinking about insects in this context but he's really not that bothered. 

He squeezes himself, pulls his fist up slowly and rubs his thumb over the slick gathering at the head. He hears Cougar take a breath, then let it out slow. It takes him back years, reminds him of right before Cougar would take a shot. It puts in his head the image of Cougar at the shooting range, focused intently on a target, and he speeds up on the next few strokes, his hips lifting.

The urge to look overwhelms his shyness so he opens his eyes. It's not really like Cougar can get it up but Jake can see clear as day that this is affecting him. It gets him so much hotter -- knowing that it wasn't a dumb idea, knowing now that Cougar likes it, too. Watching Cougar watching him like he can’t stop, couldn’t stop if his life depended on it. He groans and thumbs again the slippery head of his dick.

“So wet.” It makes him whimper, the way Cougar says it, all deep and dark and dirty. “Lick your thumb.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and lets go of himself to obey, tastes salt and bitter on his skin. He runs his other hand down his chest and stomach but stops himself on a whim, because Cougar didn’t tell him he could touch, so he bypasses his dick to instead rub at the soft inside of his thigh. The breath he hears Cougar take is encouragement enough to keep stroking, gentle, then rough; kneading hard at his own flesh and pinching, then soothing and sweet against the ache.

Jake had underestimated exactly how hot this would be -- definitely hotter than when he'd just thought Cougar might be watching him. Cougar might be on the other side of the veil, one dimension removed, but he's picking up on his wavelength loud and clear.

He takes his hand away from his mouth and wraps it around his dick again, rubbing his wet thumb over and over the head.

“Yeah. Oh my God.” He runs his other hand back up his body and rubs it across his chest, caught up in sensation, and Cougar makes a noise that makes him self conscious because he hadn’t meant it to be sexy. He’d just wanted touch so bad, wanted hands on his body. His rhythm falters just a little.

“It’s OK, keep going.” He turns his head to stare at Cougar. “Please.” He grunts in frustration and closes his eyes again because looking at Cougar is just too much right now.

Even with his eyes shut he can feel himself coming way, way too soon. Way too fast for someone his age. Sweet pressure builds sudden and strong and all he can do is dig his heels into the mattress and ride it out, whimpering.

There's a loud crack, then a sound like shattering, and he whips his head around to stare at the photograph hung up on the wall across from Cougar. The glass has a thousand cracks spider webbing out from the center, as if it's been struck. He glances at Cougar, his eyes wide, staring across the bed, and then looks back at the picture. Somehow, this is what violently effaces any doubt he’d had left about whether or not he’s been imagining all this.

"So, uh, I'm guessing it was good for you, too?” The picture falls to the carpet with a _thud._

* * *

“I’m gonna havta get that reframed, now.” He really liked that photograph.

“You take this?”

“Yeah.” After you fucking died. “It’s in Mexico, actually.” Toward the end of his world tour, when he’d felt like he could handle it; Cougar’s giving him this soft, sad look like he can read his mind. That would be a nifty trick on top of the telepathy: can’t touch anything or even sit down but can move stuff with his mind and know without asking. It’s kind of funny. He looks away. “Anyway…”

“Where else did you go?”

“Oh, I dunno… all over. I think I was in France first. I don’t um, I didn’t really…” He clears his throat. “It was hard after, you know. But whatever. All over Europe, Cambodia and around southern Asia… Kamchatka was cool. Really cool. Cold.” He laughs weakly. 

“You took pictures everywhere?”

“Yeah, I mean, I tried to. I picked up a nice camera in Germany and I, uh, yeah, I tried to.” It had helped a little, documenting this new life, defining it as something other than “After Carlos”. 

“Show me?”

"Yeah... yeah, why not."

* * *

Jake is remembering. He remembers how Cougar had had his hair up, piled on top of his head and under his hat, and Jake had been desperate to take it down, let it loose. Why had it been up? He can only remember Cougar dropping to his knees as soon as they'd been on the safe side of the hotel room door. Jake had knocked the hat off, had dug his fingers into hair and scalp and he'd tried to be gentle pulling out the tie but it probably stung in his haste. He still couldn't have felt sorry, not with the way Cougar had looked up at him, licking his lips, eyes glinting under his lashes. 

What else he remembers clearly: how he'd had his own hand over his mouth, then his fingers clamped between his teeth, trying so hard to keep quiet. All he could think about was what if someone heard him? What if they heard and knew how badly he wanted it and how much he liked it? It was these thoughts that had sent him tumbling into orgasm, and afterward Cougar had given him such a look… such a look, Jake thought that he must have suspected something. He was so sure Cougar had to have figured it out, but neither ever brought it up.

* * *

"Despacio."

"What, you want a strip tease?" Trying to hide his extreme embarrassment under humor. 

"No, just -- take your time. Please."

Jake closes his eyes and lets out slow breath. “Fine.” He lets his fingertips graze against his skin as he awkwardly, but slowly, removes his clothing. He has to keep his eyes shut because it’s just too much to ask him to watch Cougar watch him expose more skin; but knowing Cougar likes it does help. “Ta-da!” He spreads his arms, doing a shaky approximation of jazz hands.

The smile aimed at him is more turned on than amused, which is a lot to handle. “Lie down. Touch yourself.” Then: “Talk to me.”

“Jesus, Cougar.”

“Come on.”

“OK, OK… fuck. I… I want to touch you.” He starts off easy, with the obvious.

“Yo tambien.”

He groans. “Uh. I uh.” He stalls, jerking himself steadily.

“Keep going.”

“I don’t know! I don’t know… OK, I -- I like this: you watching me. I like it so much. I uh… I jerked off in the shower the other day thinking about you maybe watching me.”

“Jesus.”

“Christ, I know. Fuck.”

“Tell me more.”

“I want… I want your cock in my mouth while you suck me off.” It comes out in a rush. That had been his favorite thing to do, way back when. That intense feedback loop of pleasure; the act satisfying enough that he didn’t even care about coming. “I still remember, can you believe that?” He laughs. 

“Tell me.”

“God, your thighs would shake so hard… and when you couldn’t help it, you’d thrust into my mouth and it was just so --” He moans. “So hot. And I couldn’t -- I just -- I just wanted to suck you until I couldn’t. Until my jaw hurt too much and I -- I even remember what your mouth felt like, your hair tickling my skin.” He reaches up and runs his fingers through his own hair, shivering, tugging a little. His hips rock up into his grip. “Oh God, I’m gonna come.”

“Do it.”

His fingers slip down into his panting mouth, and he bites down on his knuckles while his back bows against the bed. It’s intense, the way it rushes over and through him, and he moans his way through it. He turns his head to watch Cougar watching him with hungry eyes, and that ratchets up the heat. He shakes his way down, eyes half lidded and still on Cougar. He wants to see Cougar’s reaction: he extracts his fingers from his mouth and runs them through the wet heat pooling on his stomach. 

Cougar’s eyes widen, then Jake sticks his fingers back in his mouth and sucks lazily and he gasps. It sends another shock through him, another burning hot wave of pleasure, and he shivers and shuts his eyes, rolling his head on the pillow to face the ceiling.

“That was…”

“Amazing.” Jake finishes, smiling at the way it makes Cougar laugh. “I really, really wish I could touch --”

“Don’t. I know.”

Yeah, they both know, and it’s something they can only say so many times before it really starts to rankle. “Yeah,” he says. “OK.”

* * *

"Todavia me amas?"

Funny thing about leaving your best friend to die in an explosion -- you don't stop loving him just because ten years have passed. Jake clears his throat.

People underestimated Cougar -- because he was small, because he was quiet -- Jake never thought he would, but he didn't expect the sucking wound of his loss. He didn’t anticipate the relentless black hole of losing someone who was never supposed to be lost. 

“Listen: when you died…” he trails off. “When you blew yourself the fuck up. It changed me, OK? I’m not the same person I was. I haven’t been for a long time.” 

Cougar shrugs. "I'm not the same, either."

Yeah, tell me about it, he thinks. "Why -- why now, y'know? Why… why not -- what if there's no room for you now?"

"I don't believe that."

He presses his lips together. "Yeah, well, I don't really give a shit what you believe."

Cougar doesn’t say anything. Then: “Maybe this is our second chance.”

Jake snorts in laughter. "Yeah, well, people like us don't get second chances."

"There are no people like us."

Jake laughs again. “Yeah, I guess not.” They’re both quiet for a moment.

"I know I wasn't easy to live with."

"You -- you weren't -- Christ! None of us were easy to live with. That wasn't the… that was never the fucking point, man." He’s not sure what he’s saying. Everything was nightmarish, they were all so messed up; it had been good, though, being with Cougar. Better than not being with him. Even with all the running and hiding and bad dreams.

He can’t help bringing it up again: “What did you say? You said, ‘and then I’m done.’ Right? Did you know? Did you --” Did you plan to die, one way or another? “Was dying always the plan?”

“I’m sorry. I wanted to die, but I swear I never wanted to leave you.” He keeps staring into his eyes until Jake has to look away.

“Why are you here, man?” It comes out small, sad.

"I never wanted... this. I never planned on sticking around, after. Or coming back. I know it must be difficult."

Jensen lets out a noisy breath. "Yeah, well.” Difficult doesn't have to mean bad.

He thinks about it hard before he asks. "If I could bring you back, if I knew how, would you want me to?" He hastens to add: "You wouldn't be stuck here. You could be, you know, real. I can get you a social security number. Anything. Anything you want. We could travel. You could get a job, or I could support us. Or you could leave. You wouldn't be stuck with me or anything. I wouldn’t..."

"You wouldn't do that."

"No, no I wouldn't. Thanks. I have no idea if it would even work. But if it did… I could try."

Cougar touches his hand, his cheek. He suppresses the shudder at the sensation -- alien and penetrating -- as Cougar's hands slide through his skin, through realities. 

"Cougar, you have to -- you have to say it."

"Bring me back, Jake. Bring me home."

* * *

The first attempt is a complete bust. Less said about the second, the better. Well, it looked like it was working, it also looked really painful, and then it really wasn’t working. Cougar, nonetheless, insisted they keep trying.

The thing that sets this spell apart from the others is that it isn’t really a spell. According to the web page, it’s not so much about bringing back the dead as it is about keeping them “on this side of the veil”. Apparently if they’ve been hanging around for a certain amount of time, and the connection is there, they’re already on their way to crossing over. “An increasing opaqueness is a very good sign.” 

_Don’t worry about them "coming back wrong", or "bringing something else over." The afterlife doesn’t work that way. It’s not like scary evil things and dead people are all mixed up together, that would be the worst filing system._

* * *

You only need a little bit of blood for the ritual -- the rest is for after. According to the website: "The previously dead need blood. Sorry. It's just true. It's temporary, but they'll probably prefer their red meat rare for a while after the procedure. If they were vegetarian before, sorry, they aren't anymore. We suggest investing in iron pills; think of it as a kind of psychic anemia."

The only butcher in town is inside the supermarket, and they don't sell blood -- but they send him to a Chinese market with a shrug. There, he finds coagulated pigs blood, which will apparently "work in a pinch", it's just "not as dynamic or cool looking." The girl behind the counter looks him over and says: "You know, it only works if they want to come back."

He says, "What are you talking about? I'm going to eat this." 

She just gives him a doubtful look and rolls her eyes, says, "Ok, white guy I've never seen in here before." She gives him his change and sighs. "Good luck."

He wants to protest, but she looks very sad. He clears his throat. "Yeah. Thanks."

* * *

_Candles. Enough to light the room. The previously dead are very sensitive to light. So, you know, a dimmer switch works just as well. It’s also less likely to get a visit from your friendly neighborhood fire department._

Jake reads the chant he printed off from the site, looking up once in a while to check on Cougar. He appears to be concentrating very hard. There’s a sort of green glow all around him that grows steadily until Jake blinks and it disappears. 

Cougar winces.

“Are you OK?”

“Si, keep going.” His voice is strained, but Jake obeys.

_You’re going to need a blanket or something, and clothes. They don’t get to bring their clothes with them. Chances are you’re seeing them in something familiar to you, but it’s all illusion. Just be glad you don’t have to see, like, your grandmother’s ghost in the nude. Anyway, give them something to wear so they don’t have to stand there all awkward and shivering._

It does seem to be working: Cougar’s gaining more definition, becoming more solid. It happens between one moment and the next, in the blink of an eye. One moment he’s floating, still sort of dreamy and somehow far away, the next he’s just… there. Naked.

“Whoa, here we go.” Jake grabs the blanket and wraps it around his shivering shoulders, catching him before he falls. It’s all so sudden he doesn’t even really have time to feel any kind of shock about it.

“Whoa,” Cougar echoes, sounding as dazed as Jake should feel. Then: “The hell is that? Blood? You going to eat that?”

“Oh, God, right, sorry.” Jake grabs the bowl of blood curd and hands it to him.

Cougar stops shoving it in his face long enough to ask: “Why can’t I stop eating this?”

“Don’t worry, it should wear off after a while. There’s like a whole thing…” He trails off, caught up in looking. He does a lot of looking, he can’t help it. “I can’t believe you’re…” He cups his face, so dear to him and gone for so long, in his hands. Cougar smiles up at him, grey in his hair, his beard, more lines than Jake remembers, more precious still than he can recall.

Cougar says, “Hi.” 

Jake lets out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Hi.” At the top of the basement stairs, the dogs whine and scratch at the door, anxious to meet and be met.

* * *

Cougar gets reacquainted with a circadian rhythm, and sometimes they both even sleep through the night. The nights they sleep all the way through, something curious happens: children run through the house and call out to each other in Pashto. Their voices echo, they flutter like moths, their images ripple like water. They laugh and play games, hide and seek, I spy, tag. They leave bloody palm prints behind as they slap their hands against the walls, chasing each other from room to room. Fingerprints from tiny fingers appear on every surface, curious, rifle through their belongings. 

In the morning, the sunlight washes it all away. Stevie and Nyx gather under the table and beg for scraps, and Jake and Cougar smile at each other over breakfast, stupidly grateful and endlessly happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd but I did get a lot of happy noises from quinion; edited by myself, so, you know. I cannot BELIEVE I actually got to do one of these events, thank you!!


End file.
